Rain With Sunshine
by Avery Wianno
Summary: A party, initiated by Nick, allows things to snowball and might make things more than friendships. And after a break-in, a CSI begins to realize that things won't be the same.
1. The Invitation

*** Disclaimer ***  
I don't own C.S.I. or any of its characters. Me... I guess I own myself... ^_^  
*Hey, this is my first fanfic, so please review!!!*   
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I plopped down at my desk, exhausted. It had seemed like this week lasted a lifetime... and I still had to finish that Bowman case. Triple homicide, noose used on all three. Not really my idea of a fun time... but then again it must be, because due to my current salary as a C.S.I. level 3 wasn't as much as most people thought. But hey, I love it just the same. I heard something beep and a grabbed my cell/pager out of my pocket. It's wicked cool (yeah, I'm part Bostonian); it's silver with dark blue stripes down the side. Very shui. Anyway, I looked at the name. WatsonCrick. Of course, I knew who it was.   
  
Greg.   
And hopefully with my DNA swab results.   
  
I walked into his office, giving few small headbobs to the rock music blaring.   
  
"A-ight, what's up? I know you wouldn't page me for nothing." He grinned. "Ok, you'd page me for nothing. But still. You got the results?" I asked.   
  
"Yeah. It was the same guy."   
  
"Sweet!" I yelled... a bit louder than I wanted to. I hugged him. "Woo-hoo! This ties up the case!" I noticed that I was still hugging him and he looked a bit uncomfortable. "Sorry," I said wincing and stepping back  
  
"Okay, okay, I'll admit I'm not the most handsome guy," he said, "but I think I'm at least worth a hug."  
  
"You're worth more than that, Greggo," I responded huskily, raising my eyebrows. He began to blush a bit so I decided to get back to what we were supposed to be talking about. "So can I have the results, or do I just get to stand here and look sexy until you give them to me?" Okay, okay, I'll admit it wasn't wise to bring up "sexual content" while you were trying to avoid that topic completely, but this was Greg Sanders. We joke around all the time.   
  
"You can continue to stand here and look sexy if you really want to," he said sighing. I playfully punched him in the arm and he handed the results to me. "I'm almost done with the other swab match. Give me half an hour and stop back in then."   
  
"Thanks soooo much!" I said again and left. He's a bit odd, but for some reason his brown eyes and bedhead strikes me as handsome.   
  
I sat down at my desk and re-evaluated my evidence. I knew that if Tommy Larson's DNA was on the knife swab that Greg had, the case would be one hundred percent solved. But of course, I had to wait what he called half an hour (I call it eternity). I shuffled through papers on my desk. It really is a mess. I re-applied my Chap-Stick; I am a self-proclaimed Chap-Stick addict  
.   
I heard Grissom walk in.   
  
"Kate, you okay?"   
  
"Yeah. Greg has the final tie to my case," I said with fake enthusiasm. "Sure you're okay?" He pulled up the chair across my desk and sat down. "You just seem so stressed. I can take it if you want." It was weird for him to volunteer to take a case, but then, Grissom was very unpredictable. I changed the topic.   
"How's Lady Heather?"   
  
"Fine," he said in a tone that made it clear he didn't want to go further. I didn't push it.   
  
"That's good. Oh, I thought I heard Nick say something about a shift party...?"  
  
"Yeah, you didn't get an invitation? He told me he invited you. It's probably on your desk," he noted with dry humor. I rifled through some more papers to discover a blue envelope with my name on it. As I looked up at Gil again, I noticed the clock showed midnight; it had been fifteen minutes since I had talked with Greg. Maybe I could mooch it from him earlier than expected.   
  
"Gil? I gotta get back to the DNA lab to pick up my results. Thanks for worrying."   
  
"You're... welcome?"   
  
"Sure." He and I stood up and walked out. I know he's my boss and everything, but I still feel so comfortable around him. He and I stood up and walked out.   
  
But of course, Life's odd twists and turns catch up with you.   
  
As I was turning the corner to get back to the lab, I- literally- ran into Nick.   
  
"Sorry!" I said while extending a hand to my fallen comrade. "In such a rush to get swab results."   
  
He nodded at my explanation and allowed me to help him up. "Yeah. Oh, I was hoping to talk to you about Friday night. You've gotten your invitation?"   
I remembered the envelope sitting like a small boat in a sea of white papers. "Yup, but I haven't gotten a chance to open it."   
  
"Well," Stokes responded, "it basically says that one, we're going out to Sampson's, and two, you need a date." He laughed as my jaw dropped.   
  
"A DATE?!?! You know that I don't date... ARGH!!" I shook my head and calmed down. "So who are you going with? Sara?" He blushed.   
  
"No. I think I might go with that new photo tech, Laurie I think?"   
  
"Yeah, it's Laurie." I saw his eyes open wide in panic as he heard her behind him. I had known Laurie from a previous job at the Anchorage C.S.I. Department. "What were you going to do?"   
  
"I'll leave you two lovebirds to sort this out, neh?" I said. "I need to get my results!"   
  
Laurie whispered something in my ear as I walked by. "You going to ask Sanders?"   
  
"Sure, why not?" I answered with a shrug. "Or maybe Archie."   
  
I opened Greg's lab's door and re-immersed myself in rock heaven.   
  
"My, isn't it a bit loud?!" I yelled over a guitar solo. He looked up from a machine and hit the "stop" button on his boom box.   
  
"Not really. Why are you back so soon? You've still got ten minutes." I rolled my eyes. "You goin' to Nick's party?"   
  
"Sure," I answered shrugging. "I mean, why not? It's not like this job leaves much room for a life. Anyway, my invite is still on my black hole of a desk. What I know about it is from my run-in with Stokes a few minutes ago."   
  
"Here," he said, handing me his invitation. I scanned the sheet quickly. The only thing I really learned was that it was casual. And Sampson's was a club. As in dance club. Well, it was a restaurant too, but I seriously doubt Stokes would invite us all out to eat. I suddenly heard the printer whirring. We both reached for the still-warm sheet, but Greg was faster.   
  
"He looked over it with mock enthusiasm. "Wow! This is good stuff!" He put the paper behind his back. "So Katie... who're ya going with?" I rolled my eyes again. I knew that it was either going to be Archie or him, so I might as well play along to get my printout.   
  
"You."   
  
"Really? I might be going with Catherine, but... I guess I'll just have to turn her down," he said before handing me the paper.   
  
"Greg, she'd never ask you. And secondly, she's going with me." We turned to see a disheveled, surviving-off-caffeine Warrick.   
  
"Katie, you're going with him? I mean, not like he's ugly or abusive or anything... I mean, I'm not gay or anything..." Greg sputtered uncertainly.   
  
I laughed. He was so confused. "Cat is going with Warr."   
  
Greg pretended to look forlorn. "So my love hath abandoned me?"   
  
"Yes," answered Warrick. "And I need those trace tests back now! You did page me ten minutes ago.   
  
"Sorry," replied Greg as he handed the taller man his papers. Brown walked silently out of the room. Greg turned back to me. "So, when can I pick you up?" 


	2. Thoughts

***Disclaimer***  
I don't own C.S.I. or its characters or its sets or... ^_^  
Thank you so much silk and Elina for your reviews!!!!!!! I feel so loved!!!  
Please review it!! Constructive criticism or praise, whatever you feel is necessary.  
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"Greg, it's not a 'date' date. I just needed someone to come along... and you took my swab test results... so I said yes. You know I've never really dated anyone."  
  
His eyes bulged. "Really? I mean, not like I thought you were a hoe or anything... but no boyfriend?"  
"Yeah. I always went out with a group of buds in college and I didn't party much anyway. I'm still a virgin, if you're worried."  
  
"You know," he responded gruffly, "we could change that all right now."  
  
"Let's not."  
  
"Your loss." He yawned, stretched, and smiled. "Okay, but at least let me pick you up."  
  
He looked so earnest and hopeful, like a puppy really trying to learn tricks, that I knew I would feel terrible saying no.  
  
"Ok. Here's my-" I was interrupted as he bent down and flipped me over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "Sanders! What the hell are you doing?!"  
  
"Picking you up," was the reply I got as he carried me out the door, my head just barely under the doorframe. I was surprised at Greg. I mean, not at the "pick me up" joke (he's always been a bit of an oddball), but the fact that he could lift 5'10" 140 pound me. I can keep my weight down because I work out, swim, or run all the time. I guess Greg the Lab Guy must've come up with his own fitness routine.   
  
"Greg, will you please let me down?" I asked. It's a good thing that I honestly don't care about my image.  
  
"No, I'm taking you back to your desk."  
  
I did my best to cross my arms and look bored in the hope that that might bring me a savior. My savior turned out to be a middle-aged man back in front of my office. I heard him before I saw him.  
  
"Greg? You've either been playing around with DNA too long and now you have legs growing out your arm, or-"  
  
"Hey, Gil." I peeked around Greg's arm. "Just a lil' FYI for you... don't ever let Greg pick you up." Gil looked confused. "It was the whole Sampson's-Nick's party thing. He- my current captor- blackmailed me into saying 'yes'"  
  
"You mean you've had other captors?" inquired Greg.  
  
Grissom coughed. "Greg, could you at least let me talk to Katie for a moment?"  
  
"Well..." the younger man began.  
  
"Don't you have something to do back at the lab?" Grissom phrased the statement as a question. My view of Greg's white lab coat-covered back disappeared as he set me down. I brushed off my now-rumpled blue shirt and smiled.  
  
"Thanks for the ride, Greggo."  
  
"Anytime." He turned to walk away. I suddenly realized something.  
  
"Hey! Hang a sec." (Yeah, I know I have weird phrases, but it gets my point across. Whatever works.) I raced into my office and pulled out my business card and a pen out of my coat pocket. I scribbled my number and address down and handed it to him. "What time does it start?"  
  
"Eight. The big guys upstairs gave us all the day off."  
  
"Sweet. Pick me up at six-thirty." I saw his eyebrows rise. "I was gonna eat beforehand, but I remembered you can cook."  
  
"Oui, I am le chef fo' youz, mademoiselle," he parried in a hilariously fake French accent.  
  
"She'll see you later, Greg," Grissom supplied for him. Greg- totally un-Greg-like- blushed, grinned, waved, and walked away. Gil shook his head.  
  
I turned to Gil. "So, what do you need?"  
  
"The results to that Bowman case."  
  
"Right here, and just a sec," I said giving him my coveted DNA printout and running into my office. I emerged, a moment later, with the file I had built up. "It's all here. I noted all the important sites and tests- well, 'cept for these two- in the conclusion."  
  
Gil smiled. "Thanks." He looked down the now-abandoned hallway Greg had left by. "And I'm sure Greg thanks you, too."  
  
"Well, I figured I knew him, and I was either gonna go with him or Archie, and he kinda blackmailed me, so I said 'yes'. No biggie. Though I still can't figure out why you have to have a 'date' for that stupid party."  
  
"I think Nick had a good idea there. Can you honestly say you have a real social life? But, well, you didn't have to go with him."  
  
"I know. But he's kinda cute, though," I remarked. Then I realized what I had said. "Sorry, Gris, I know I know I just broke the taboo on talking with a man about another, but I feel like I can tell you anything..."  
  
He patted my shoulder. "That's okay."  
  
"You going... with anyone?"  
"No, I'm not going."  
  
"I'm surprised. I thought you'd go with Lady Heather. You two seem like soul mates."  
  
His turn to blush a bit. "We're going to a new teahouse we haven't tried. I've heard it's good. It's called 'Rain with Sunshine.' Have you heard of it?"  
  
I nodded eagerly. "Yeah! I love that place! It's ten walking-distance-minutes from my house. I love their lemon-orange tea. It's unbelievably calming."  
  
"Really?" he replied, interested.  
  
"Their green chai tea is also awesome."  
  
"I'll have to try that," he responded. He turned to go and I called after him.  
  
"Gil! Thanks for the... err, help with Greggo. Not to be mean or anything, but does our little lab friend have a social life at all?"  
  
"Yeah?" He phrased the answer as a question.  
"I mean, I just said I'd go with him to the party so I could go, and so I could get my papers."  
  
"Are you sure?" he inquired as he walked away, away down the hallway.  
  
"I think that Lady Heather is wearing off on him," I muttered as I sat down in the chair behind my desk. 


	3. Pictures and Lipgloss

***Disclaimer***  
I don't own CSI, their characters, their ideas, their sets, their pants... ^_^  
Yeah, I know it's not so PG-13 right now, but it may get a bit risqué later on... *^_^*  
Please review!!!  
Sorry no updates for a while, my happy school life kinda eliminated some of my spare time.... _  
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Even a bystander in the department could tell something was going on. All the women and men were dressing up to impress the opposite sex, like how animals in the wild show off their colors to attract a mate. Greggo and I had a lot of laughs over these peacock shows. We'd sit, me with my special blend lemon-orange tea and him with his special blend coffee (I don't know what's in it, I can't stand the stuff), and watch the performance.  
  
"Oh... my... God..." I choked out between laughs. "Look at her!!! She's hitting on Archie so hard he's getting bruises!!! And he doesn't even realize it!"  
  
"Wow. She's wearing that low-cut red blouse, that one she wears in my dreams, though," he added informatively, "she doesn't wear anything in my dreams." I pushed him into the wall. "Oooh, getting territorial I see. And over lil' ol' me?"  
  
I rolled my eyes so far back I am honestly surprised he couldn't see them roll across the floor.  
  
Anyway, we were discussing Sara Sidle. Since almost everyone was both going and had a date, Sara's options were drastically limited. So Greg and I were watching, something quite dangerous without her knowledge or consent, her hit on Archie.  
  
"Sooo Archie," she murmured dragging her fingertips across his back... to no avail with him, we were trying not to crack up. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Greg shake his head at Archie's inattentiveness. Archie was planted in front of his computer. She finally let out a grunt of agitation, put her hands on either side of the tan, Asian man's face and turned his head towards her. "Archie," she said slowly, "are you free Friday?"  
  
"Well, there is this new movie on Sci-Fi at eight-"  
  
"That's what VCRs are for. You are going to go, with me, to Nick's little party- I still can't figure out why I can't just go stag- on Friday." If she would've added "and you're going to like it" he couldn't have been more scared. You could see his eyes go wide in terror of a party. Sarh realized this when after he started sputtering.  
  
"Sara? Umm... are you okay? I'll go if you want I'll pick you up too and I'll do-"  
  
"Sorry to scare you." She leaned down and breathed on his cheek. By now, Greg and I had to gag ourselves we were laughing so hard. Archie was no terrified of the woman in front of him. "I just need a date."  
  
"I-I'll go S-Sara-"  
  
"Thanks," she said as she sealed it with a Ballerina Pink Revlon kiss. Greg, on cue, brought out his camera and started snapping shots. Sarah saw the light from the flash and whirled around. "Greg!!! Katie!!!" The three of us took off- Greg and I giving chase to Sara- and Archie sat there, stunned, his lips unusually pink.  
  
Greg and I dashed down hallways and found ourselves hiding behind the couch in the break room. We were out of breath and shaking. But we were still trying not to laugh. I caught a sidelong glance at him crouched down next to me as he was muttering something about the classic look on the other lab tech's face.  
  
You know that rush you feel when you think you're falling in love? Yeah, that's how I felt. But I knew it- the rush- wasn't from that. Actually, your autonomic nervous system- the whole "fight or flight" mechanism- causes the "falling in love rush" to feel like the "hiding behind a couch from a very pissed off Sara rush." That's why if you want someone to really love you (or just play Cupid and speed along the process), you take him or her skydiving or something equally dangerous like that.  
  
Something dangerous- like what we were doing.  
  
I heard the door open and Grissom, Nick, and Warr walked in. We both stood up.  
  
"Hi guys," I said aloud. They looked stunned for a second, and then Grissom shook his head.  
  
"What did you two do?"  
  
"What?! Why am I always blamed for everything that-" Greg started.  
  
"Because, more often than not, it's your fault," Nick parried. Just then, Sara burst in.  
  
"CATHERINE ELIZABETH!" I winced. She sounded a bit too much like my mom in a bad mood. "What did you do?" Everyone in the room looked expectantly at me.  
  
"What?! I wasn't the one making out with Archie!" This got a whistle from Nick and a reddening from Sara.  
  
"You were snapping shots," she retorted.  
  
"No, Greg did."  
  
"Did not," he replied innocently.  
  
"Did too."  
  
"Did not."  
  
"Did too."  
  
"Did not."  
  
"Did too."  
  
"Did not."  
  
"Greg, that's either a camera in your pocket or you're unusually happy to see me." I was rewarded with a smirk from Greg.  
  
"Whatever," Sara said. "At least I'll kiss my date." I could feel my temperature spike.  
  
"So? We're going as friends."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"She doesn't have to his him if she doesn't want to," Grissom replied quietly. More and more of Lady Heather was becoming apparent in him. We all turned and stared at him. "It's her choice. She doesn't need to kiss him if she doesn't really love him." Damn you Gil! You know I don't know if I do or not!  
  
The others accepted this... well, except for a just walking in Cat.  
  
"Gil, she loves this kid. I've seen them flirt their asses off. It's kinda cute, really." I glared at her. I hate the word cute. For some reason, it really ticks me off. I heard Greg take a shaky sigh.  
  
"Yeah, I mean, we're just good frie-"  
  
I cut him off. "Hey Greg, look over there," I said pointing to the table in the middle of the room. He raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and obeyed. I leaned up- if one can do such a thing- and kissed his cheek. God, he smells good! How do some guys do it?! I backed away. He looked confused, but the blue lip-gloss lip-print on his cheek told the story. I turned to Sara. "That count?"  
  
She grinned and shook her head. "Whatever works, Katie, whatever works. 


	4. A New Twist

***Disclaimer***  
Ok, if you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own C.S.I., I am merely obsessed with it. I own myself, Katie. I think. ^_^ Thank you for the reviews I've got; I feel so wanted!  
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I refused to believe what Catherine had said... that we were in love. But, there were signs. I mean yeah, he'd process my samples faster, but other stuff, too. He got Archie to burn a CD of my favorite rock songs. He knew that "The Sweater Song" by Weezer was my favorite newer-rock song- I usually like the older stuff- so he put it on the CD three times. And the fact that every time I was around him, I couldn't concentrate. I mean, he smelled so good and I could hear him breathing and... so I would over-concentrate and try to lose myself in my work to get my mind off it. It wasn't anything... was it?  
  
Then Thursday came.  
  
"Hey, y'know that it's at eight, right?" our favorite part-organizer asked me in a Texas-tinted accent. Since we-the partygoers- weren't going to work Friday, he made his rounds at the end of the shift.  
  
"Yah. Oh, Nicky?" I asked as innocently as someone with an un-innocent question can ask and as I was making quotation marks with my fingers. "Who's your 'date'?"  
  
He laughed. "Well, since I was the one who started the thing, I figured I didn't need one."  
  
I threw my coat at him and missed. As I stepped out into the hall, I heard Laurie call after him.  
  
"You are picking me up at seven, right?"  
  
The tips of his ears turned a guilty red. I grinned. I picked up my dark blue jacket off the tile floor and, also equipped with my shoulderbag-briefcase and purse, headed for the door. I heard someone call after me. Take a wild guess at who it was.  
  
"Katie!" I turned around to see Greg jogging towards me. "We're still on?"  
  
"Yeah?" I paused. "Greg, what are you getting at?"  
  
"I just wanted to make sure-"  
  
"That I wasn't going to stand you up?" He nodded. "Greg, I am not going to stand you up. Be at my house at six-thirty. See ya then," I added walking away and giving a quick wave goodbye.  
  
This confrontation had made me kinda nervous. I mean, I never asked if he was going to stand me up! But he wouldn't, right? I just kinda trusted him... did he trust me?  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
When I got home, I noticed all the lights were off. I usually try to leave some on a timer so they flick on when I get home. I glanced at the clock in my car. It read 5:00. Okay, I'm on time. I remembered my rush to get to work earlier that morning- I had wanted to do Friday's works so I wouldn't be caught behind. I guess I must've turned the lights off and never turned them back on so the timer could work.  
  
I drove my silver Neon into my garage. It was brick, squarish, and yet somehow slightly homey, just like the rest of my house. I walked up the stone path to my front door and turned my key in the lock. But, at just the slightest pressure, the door opened.  
  
Someone was there.  
  
I stepped in the door. It was way, way too quiet. I mean, it was loud quiet. I turned on some lights to hopefully help me shake the feeling, but there were still way too many shadows. I stepped into the kitchen and flipped on a light...  
  
To see a man, dressed in black, going through my drawers.  
  
I yelled.  
  
"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?" He spun around and I realized that making a sound had been a bad idea. A very bad idea.  
  
He lunged for me. I grabbed the first thing I could snatch off the countertop, which turned out to be a book. I whacked him, to no avail, on the head. He pushed- though it was more of a throw- me against the wall opposite the entryway. I yelped when my head hit the ground. I knew then that I was at his mercy.   
I crab-walked back to the other side of the room and leaned against the wall, inching myself up.  
  
"What... do... you... want?" I wheezed out shakily. I didn't realize all the effort it had taken to move.  
He ran at me again. I made a few swipes at his head; both shots easily cleared his black ski mask. He grabbed my wrists, forced them together, and spun me around. I prayed to God this wasn't going to be a rape. Adrenaline, inspired by fear, pumped through my veins. But the intruder had nothing sexual in mind. He slammed my body into the wall. I blacked out momentarily.  
  
When my consciousness came back, I blinked a few times and looked up at the clock on the stove. 5:30. I had be lying there for- I did some quick calculations- about half an hour. I turned over onto all fours. My floor was... dark? A metallic taste in my mouth made me spit on the ground. Blood. There was blood on the floor. Suddenly it felt like all the blood was rushing out of my head. I sat back down, reached up, and grabbed the phone. I dialed the numbers.  
  
"Nine-one-one operator. How may I help you?"  
  
I took a shaky breath. "I was just robbed."  
  
"Hmm." She didn't believe me. I didn't blame her. There are so many stooges out there who call for dumb reasons.  
  
"Okay. Two things. I'm not pregnant. I'm not on my period. Got that?" I didn't care if I was being sarcastic. "Okay. I'm sitting in blood."  
  
"I'll contact an ambulance, miss." I gave her my home address and hung up.  
  
Then everything went black.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
I awoke in a hospital room, and believe me, that can scare the pants off you. I sat straight up, nearly yanking two IVs out of my arm. Luckily, a nurse happened to be in the room.  
  
He walked over. "Miss, you need to go back to sleep now. You are receiving a lot of blood to replace the blood you've lost."  
  
"I'm not going back to sleep." And I said the first thing that popped into my head. "Get me a book."  
  
"No," he replied calmly. Damn, he was good. He must've had a lot of patients deliberately try to be as obnoxious as they could be.  
  
"Aight. Then can you at least get me something to read?" I mumbled.  
  
He looked horrified. "Now you want some marijuana?"  
  
Okay, okay, I know it was wrong.  
  
But I laughed.  
  
"Nooo... We'll try that again. Can you tell me what the hell happened to me?"  
  
"Can do."  
  
"Okay. You do it."  
  
And he told me that after I blacked out, I was picked up by an ambulance and given thirty one stitches for a gash in my leg- it had been from a knife, which helped identify the black-cloaked one.  
  
"He had it on him when the police picked him up with a public drunkenness call-in. He was wandering around a street four or five minutes away." This struck me as odd.  
  
"My assailant wasn't drunk."  
  
"It could've happened later."  
  
"No, I'm a criminologist. I know my stuff."  
  
He shrugged. "Whatever. Anyway, you gotta lot of flowers and stuff." He gestured around the small room. I saw three small flowerpots, four cards, and a stuffed cow. I knew immediately it was from my brother. He knew of my obsession with the cloven-hoofed animals.  
  
"So when can I go home?"  
  
I learned later- from the doctor that came to check up on me a little bit later- that I could go home Sunday afternoon.  
  
I called Laurie later that evening, around eight. She picked up on the third ring.  
  
"Hey, Laurie."  
  
I heard nothing for a second and thought I had dialed the wrong number.  
  
"Katie?!" Nope, it was definitely Laur. "Are you okay? We held off the party 'til next Friday."  
  
"Oh, fun. I'll bet Greg was ecstatic."  
  
"Speaking of Greg..." She paused dramatically. :He was really worried about you. I mean, no-loud-music worried."  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
"Seriously."  
  
"Yikes. I'll have to call him tomorrow," I replied, making a mental note. "I get out of here Sunday anyway."  
  
"Sweet."  
  
"Oh, and thanks for the flowers!" We made small talk for a while. And then I remembered her "thing" with Nick. "Just curious, but did your 'thing' with Nick ever work out?"  
  
Silence from the other end of the line.  
  
"What happened."  
  
"Hmm?" I knew something was up.  
  
"What did you two do?"  
  
"We went out to dinner before the shift started. It was really nice, even though we went to some almost college-y little place. Not really a hole-in-the-wall type of place. It sounded like you... the atmosphere seemed, well, like something you'd love."  
  
"What was it called?"  
  
"'Rain With Sunshine,' I think?"  
  
"Yeah. Gris and Lady H were going to go there before the party. That place is down the street from me. I really, really, really like it there."  
  
We just about ended it there. Well, okay, we made more small talk for a few, said our good-byes, and hung up. By now the doctor had come back in to give me another dose of something evil-smelling and dark.  
The doctor handed me the cup.  
  
"This may- no, it will make you tired."  
  
I nodded in return. He stayed in the room long enough to see me swallow what was in the cup, but not long enough to see me make a face at the taste, which, for the record, was worse than the smell by a long shot. Remembering the doctor's warning, I slid into bed. I made another mental note to thank whoever had brought my PJs. I hate hospital gowns. They seem almost like those sheets in the morgue. I pulled the blankets up to my shoulders.  
  
Then I was asleep.  
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	5. Hospitals and Houses

***Disclaimer***  
Ok, if you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own C.S.I. Thanks for the reviews iluvcsi4ever, and anonymous one from someone in Vermont, and Meee!!!!!!! Constructive criticism is always appreciated. Thanks, guys!  
I was awoken by a nurse around nine. I was beginning to feel the stitches; my leg had a sore strip. I made a valiant attempt to eat most of the food reminiscent of my Junior High Cafeteria. I failed miserably. He- the nurse- then gave me another cupful of that terrible medicine. I winced, swallowed, and shivered. Damn. And I thought Robitussin was bad...  
  
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I awoke twelve hours later. It wasn't really that bad. The sun was shining in through the window, making my skin appear more tanned against the unearthly white sheets. I sat up and ate part of my breakfast. The muffin was salvageable, and even sort of good. The sorry lump of eggs, on the other hand, was neither one. The doctor came in and checked me out. Well, not in the way you're probably thinking. He just filled a prescription for ointment to go on the stitches and told me I was free to go whenever I wanted to. I then realized that I didn't have a ride home. I recalled vaguely a conversation while I was waiting for the printer to print test results that Greg mentioned he lived near me. I figured that hey, I was gonna call him anyway. Might as well hit two birds with one stone.  
  
I picked up the phone and dialed.  
  
"Hhmn?" was the answer I got on the fifth ring. He had been sleeping.  
  
"Sorry," I replied, wincing internally. I had forgotten, even after being on the night shift for years, that he was still on his nocturnal schedule. "This is Katie."  
  
"Oh! Hey, uh, hang on a sec," he interrupted before I could say more. I heard sheets move, the sound of him getting out of bed. I wonder... my eyes widened as I came back from my dream world with the object of my fantasy yelling in my ear. "KATIE!"  
  
"Huh? Oh, sorry, just zoning out for a sec," was my reply as I blushed.  
  
"He laughed nervously. "Oookay. No big. You hear about the party?"  
  
"Yeah. I called Laurie."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"I didn't know if I could ask you a favor."  
  
"Ask away, my mistress."  
  
"Greg, that's too Lady H for me." That woman was deep, but she was still a little queer. I took a deep breath. "Ok, since I was picked up by an ambulance, my car is rotting away in my garage. Could you drive me home?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Um... Greg? You don't have to if you don't want to, it's just the fact that you live down the street or something? I think you do so and all-" And I probably would've babbled on had he not interrupted me.  
  
"Sure. I'm technically off tonight, so I'll just take a nap later."  
  
"Thanks!" I yelled into the phone. I really need to work on controlling the volume of my voice. "Can you get me in, I don't know... an hour?" It was ten o'clock.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Then I'll meet you in the lobby." We said our good-byes and hung up. By the time the doctor signed me out, I mooched a wheelchair to put my flowers in (I had to also carry an overnight bag someone had dropped off for me), and made it to the lobby, it was eleven-thirty.  
  
I frantically scanned the tepid-colored room. Ah! I felt myself release a breath I didn't know I was holding. There he was!  
  
"Hey, I'm really sorry, it took longer than I thought." He jumped a little in surprise; he hadn't seen me walk up behind him.  
  
He stood up, dropped his magazine, and stretched. "No, s'okay." He made a motion towards the door. "Wanna go? Or wanna stay cooped up in this cell?" I knew he hated hospitals as much as I did. He picked my flowers up and I dropped the wheelchair off at the front desk and allowed his loud yellow shirt to lead me outside.  
  
I first felt the heat when I stepped outside. Las Vegas was definitely a bit warm, and the hospital had been freezing. The sun was shining brightly so I had to stand still and blink for a minute.  
  
I heard Greg walk back to me.  
  
"You sure you're okay?"  
  
"Yep. Just the fact that I've been stuck in a place with white walls for a day or two doesn't help your eyesight."  
  
"Were they padded?" I swung my overnight bag at him and laughed when he leapt, army-style, away. We started across the parking lot and reached his car, a black Passat, without much trouble.  
  
"Nice wheels."  
  
"Thanks. They're not my ideal ones, but they work." He unlocked the car and put the flowers in the back while I tossed my overnight bag into the same row. He slid behind the driver's seat and I slid behind my corresponding seat on the passenger side. We drove the twenty minutes back to my home entwined in a comfortable quiet. As we pulled onto my street, he spoke.  
  
"If you need to talk about it, I'm here." I looked in his direction and smiled.  
  
"Maybe later. Thanks for the ride, though. Maybe I could make it up to you later," I said, dropping my voice for the last part. He laughed as we drove up my driveway. The car was put into park and I walked back up the walkway, Greg at my heels, to find... my house turned into a crime scene. When I looked in through one of the two windows on either side of the dark green door, one of the CSIs noticed me and the door was opened.  
  
It was Tim Koerbel.  
  
"Hey, Kate!" he said smiling.  
  
I grinned back. "How are you? I mean, I heard about the promo. Congrats."  
  
"Thanks. Oh, we're still processing all this. Do you have a place you could stay? A hotel, perhaps?"  
  
I winced. "I don't really have the funding for a hotel room. I just bought a new dishwasher. I'll just call someone or something."  
  
"You could stay with me." I knew that wasn't a good idea. I had known this guy since freshman year at college, and I worked with him for a year or two, and I knew he was a real party-guy. Plus, we hadn't been close for a while. And I didn't feel comfortable saying 'yes,' I don't know why.  
  
"Nah, it's okay. I'll find someone else. Can I grab some stuff outta my room?"  
  
He nodded. "Yah, just tell Simon I said so. That kid worships me."  
  
Greg cleared his throat. "Katie, um, yeah, can we talk?"  
  
I shrugged. "Sure. See ya Tim. Call me sometime, aight? Maybe we could go to Jimmy's for a drink or something." Tim nodded, smiled, and went back to his work. I grabbed Greg by his elbow and tugged him up the stairs. I noticed the junior CSI on the floor, looking through photos. I cleared my throat. He stood up and turned beet red.  
  
"Uhm, I-I w-was-s j-j-"  
  
"Doing your job. No biggie. I know you can't leave while I'm here, so could you just stand there in the doorway? We need to talk." He nodded, and like an earnest puppy, raced to do what I had said. 


	6. His House

***Disclaimer***   
  
I don't own Greg. I don't own Greg's house. Actually, I have absolutely no idea what Eric Szmanda's house looks like. Oh, and for those who didn't already catch the hint, Katie is me. Though I am not a CSI, I thought it'd be fun to write myself in. But I'm not using my real last name 'cause that just seems a little odd to do that over the internet. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!!!!!!! Constructive criticism is always appreciated. A big thank you to Melindotty for her two reviews.  
  
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Greg and I picked our way over photos and taped-off areas.  
  
"What?" I asked quietly.  
  
"Are you two...?" He was so close, I could feel his breath on my neck.  
  
"No," I answered, quietly again. "We used to be friends, really close ones, too, but we just haven't seen much of each other. And we were never like that."  
  
He seemed satisfied with my answer.  
  
I pulled out two shirts, one blue and one gray and both t-shirts, and a pair of jeans. I pushed my already-open closet door wide enough so I could enter. I slid a blouse and a skirt off a shelf for work tomorrow. Turning around, I bumped into Greg. He had been following me.  
  
"Sorry!" he yelped, looking anywhere but at me.  
  
I pulled him all the way into the closet. I knew that he couldn't talk while someone he didn't know was in the room; even though Greg always seemed outgoing, put him in front of Gris for five minutes and he's babbling away.  
  
"Okay, spill it." He looked tense for a second, then his shoulders sagged.  
  
"Alright, alright. I was wondering if... you wanted to spend the night with me."  
  
I faked a disgusted look. "Greg! I never knew you thought of me that way!"  
  
"Would you like to?" he parried, putting his and on my waist. I looked up into his deep brown eyes... and pushed his hand off me.  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh. Okay."  
  
I was surprised that he was surprised.  
  
"What do you-"  
  
"Look," he interrupted with a sigh, "let's just drop it. You can spend the night at my place if you want, or whatever, I don't care. I can gladly sleep on the couch."  
  
"What a gentleman," I replied, handing him some of the clothes i was holding. "Sure, I'll go. Since I'm homeless right now... oh!" I dashed back to my dresser right as we were about to walk out. "Underwear," I answered with a slightly embarrassed grin.  
  
"I'll carry those!" Now this was the Greggo I knew.  
  
"You're too kind."  
  
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The trip to his house was pretty uneventful. We laughed and joked the whole way. That was one of the reasons I liked Greg. He could make you laugh even when you felt like crap.  
  
We pulled in around half-past noon. The house was painted tan and had medium-sized windows with a white border. I loved it. He pulled the car into the garage. It wasn't the most organized garage, but hey, whose is? I retrieved my clothes and bag from the backseat while a flower-laden Greg fumbled with his keys to open the door.  
  
"Aha!" I heard him mutter under his breath as he unlocked and kicked the door open. I stepped inside right behind him and was surprised it was as orderly as it was. My expectations of a slightly disgruntled house (ie my house) were shot down in flames. His house had a sort of homey clutter, magazines on the coffee table, newspaper on a chair.  
  
"Welcome to my humble abode."  
  
"Not bad." I noticed Greg yawning. "Oh yeah, you wanted to take a nap, right? I still feel bad about earlier. I shouldn'tve called you. I shoulda called my neighboor Tina or something." He walked over from his silver fridge and hugged me.  
  
"Katie," he said quietly wile his arms were around me, "I'm glad you called me. And it's no big deal at all. You're a friend. I'd do this for Nick or Warr or Archie." I tilted my head up to make eye contact.  
  
"You hug those guys? Wow, Greggio, I never knew." He rolled his eyes.  
  
"You know what I mean." He stepped back. Without his body against mine, it felt twenty degrees colder. "Wanna help me change the sheets on my bed? You can bring your stuff too, and keep it in there, if you want." We walked down the hall and into his room; he told me on the way that his house had one level plus a basement.  
  
Not bad for a bachelor pad.  
  
His room was a hunter green, a huge change from the tan of the kitchen. He pointed to a chair in the corner.  
  
"You can set your stuff there." He walked out of the room to get fresh sheets. I looked around the room. CD player, CD tower, bookcase, lamp, desk, closet, a few clothes dropped on the ground. He walked back into the room, armed with blue plaid cotton sheets.  
  
"Nice place."  
  
He smiled and shrugged. "It's no penthouse, but it works for me." He tossed me a pillow; I pulled the case off while he stripped the bed. We re-assembled the bed in silence. When we finished, he yawned again.  
  
"Why don't you go lie down now?" I suggested.  
  
He grinned sheepishly.  
  
"Yeah, well, I've been awake for awhile." He walked to and stood outside the doorway. "The bathroom's right there. I'll be on the couch, which is down these stairs," he said, pointing to a door, "so if you need anything, wake me."  
  
"Are you sure you don't want your bed?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You're sure."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I just feel so guilty about it."  
  
"Don't."  
  
"Sure?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Sure?"  
  
He walked back over to me. "Can you read my lips?" he asked me as he began mouthing words.  
  
"Cat. Dog. Wow! A lil' profanity, Greg?" He grinned. "Ger in the damn bed before k- wow!" He rolled his eyes; the last part of the conversation I made up.  
  
He stood up and walked back out to the hallway.  
  
"Goodnight, K."  
  
"Goodnight, Greggo. And thanks again." I shut the door. That kid was odd. Sweet, yeah, but odd nonetheless.  
  
I walked over to my overnight bag and pulled out my pjs- a violet cami with cow-spot pants- and put them on. I hadn't realized how tired I was; the whole ordeal had taken a lot out of me, even though I was trying desperately not to show it.  
  
I pulled down the blankets, slid between the sheets, and was out like a light. 


	7. Confrontation

***Disclaimer***  
Okay, if you can't guess what it is by now, hit yourself on the head with a fish. Seriously... I don't own CSI. NBC does. THANK YOU SO MUCH A BLOOM FOR THE REVIEWS!!!!!!! I FEEL SO LOVED!!!!! And guys, I love reviews if you can't tell already. I'll try to post as often as I can... I have alotta the story written, just not typed. Thanks guys!!! ^_^  
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I woke up around seven thirty pm to an alarm, loud and buzzing, and overall, obnoxious. Sitting up, I searched the digital clock's face for the "off" button, and was rewarded with blaring silence upon my success. I slid my legs over the side of the bed. Standing up slowly so all the blood wouldn't rush out of my head, I made my way to the door. My throat, dry and scratchy, called for a drink... so I decided to check the kitchen.  
  
I walked down the hallway back into the tan room and began to search for a cup. After about five minutes of cupboard-searching, I heard Greg come in.  
  
"Looking for something?"  
  
"Whatever gave you that idea?" I replied, turning around. Raising my eyebrows and tilting my head, I spoke again. "Do a few sit-ups?"  
  
He had walked in bare-chested.  
  
He blushed. "Enh, I work out I've got the chance."  
  
I whistled. "That's more than a little. I mean, damn." I unconsciously walked over to the doorway and traced the muscles on his stomach. Very defined.  
  
"What? I mean, I'm trying to get more muscles, but it doesn't seem to show."  
  
"Oh, it shows. These are 'second-look' good."  
  
"And... that's a good thing?"  
  
"Yeah. 'First-look' good is a casual glance; 'second-look' is a double-take stare."  
  
"So what's 'third-look'?" I looked up at him, my hand on his stomach.  
  
"You really want to know?" I replied suggestively.  
  
He stepped back and my hand slid off. "Wha- wait. Okay, you get all pissed when I hit on you, and then you turn around and hit on me.  
  
I must've looked shocked. "Greg, I was teasing."  
  
"Call it what you will. I call it being a hypocrite."  
  
"Geez, Greg! I was just joking around."  
  
"Really? I'm just supposed to tryst that you won't lead me on?"  
  
"Sure, I guess? I don't know. Yeah, why not."  
  
"Fine." He sounded frustrated. "Fine. So then you'll just trust me, right?" he said while sliding his arms to the small of my back. For some reason, that made me shiver.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Close your eyes."  
  
"WHAT?!?!?!?!"  
  
"Close your eyes."  
  
"Wh-what?"  
  
"Close your eyes."  
  
"Whatever," I mumbled, obeying. What happened next was a shock. I felt something graze my lips, then pressure on my mouth. I felt him press into me.  
  
And I pressed back.  
  
My hands slid up his back and into his hair, where they buried themselves amongst the bed-head mess.  
  
My eyes snapped open.  
  
"Shit," I said, breaking away and stepping back. I hadn't realized what I had been doing. "Just kidding, right?" My voiced wavered. He nodded and stood there, staring at my mouth. My hands went to my lips. They were warm and reeked of chap-stick... defiantly not my chap-stick. "What? Do I have something on my mouth?"  
  
He realized he had been staring and quickly shook his head. "No, no, just zoning out. You sure you're okay? I mean, that break-in must've scared you."  
  
The change in subject was a relief. I shrugged an answer. "Yeah, I'll get over it. My mom'll make me see a shrink for a week, though, probably."  
  
"Sucks," he replied, making a face.  
  
"Yeah. Oh, yeah... where're the cups?"  
  
He walked past me. I could smell the- his- chap-stick again and was reminded of the incident that occurred only seconds earlier.  
  
"Here's one," he said, presenting me with a glass. He grabbed another for himself. The fridge was opened, exposing fruit and vegetables to the dying Las Vegas sunset. "What do you want? Beer?"  
  
"I hate beer."  
  
"Oh, well! Drink of champions." He tossed me a Red Crème Soda.  
  
"You know me well."   
  
He laughed. "Yeah, well, since I know for sure you hate Root Beer and Mountain Dew too, and that's all I've got, process of elimination gave me the answer."   
  
"Teach you that in college, little lab tech?" He grinned and pulled the freezer door open, giving my bare arms goosebumps.  
  
"Holy cow! Think your freezer's cold enough?"  
  
"No. Ice?"  
  
"No, thanks. I drink my Red Crème straight up." He dropped three ice cubes into his glass and cracked the lid of the pop can. The pungent aroma of Mountain Dew peppered the air. I, after also filling up my glass, handed the can to Greg's outstretched hand. "You recycle?"  
  
"Yeah. Even though you have to pay for it."  
  
"I hate that." He disappeared through the laundry room and out into the garage. I heard banging, a door slam, and then saw Greg again. Wow, this kid is an odd one.  
  
"Wanna go watch TV?" the now t-shirt clad Greg asked me.  
  
"Sure. I'm game." I took his drink off the counter as he opened a door near the bathroom.  
  
"Ladies first."  
  
"Thanks." The descent down the carpeted stairs lasted all of maybe five seconds. Then I stopped and stared. The basement was beautiful. Finished, lots of pictures on the walls, big couch, bar, TV. Heaven. "Very nice," I told him. He smiled, vaulted over the back of the couch, and stretched himself across the couch's cushions. I walked around the couch and end table and handed him his drink, which he promptly put on the table I walked around.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Aren't you going to move?"  
  
"What? There's a chair right there!"  
  
"Well, I like the couch better."  
  
"Sorry, Miss Princess."  
  
"I'll sit on you!" I threatened. He raised his eyebrows. I set my red soda on the hardwood floor and spread myself, after a lot of groans of complaint from Greg, over my friend's body. "Comfortable."  
  
"No, I'm not."  
  
"No, I am. That was a statement." He laughed and turned the TV on from the remote on the infamous end table. We ended up watching the last four innings of a Red Sox- Tampa Bay game. It was really, really, really close. So close, that it was only at the seventh inning stretch after almost an hour (Red Sox leading, of course) that I realized Greg's arm was around my waist. "Um, Greg? You do know where your hands are going, right?" His fingers, previously on the chasm between cami and pants started to recede.  
  
"Sorry, I really promise I didn't mean-" I caught his hand and brought it back down.  
  
"It's okay. I like having my own Greggo blanket." His head was behind and above mine; mine was on his chest. I felt his breathing rate increase. "Hey, sorry, calm down, okay?" I felt like where he was touching me, my nerves were on fire. His breathing rate slowed as he controlled it.  
  
"Fine," he answered and wrapped his other arm around me. We sat like that for the rest of the game. When it ended, the Sox winning by a run, I tried to sit up, forgetting about his arms. Like a ricocheting rock, I was pulled back towards him.  
  
"Ooof! Sorry, Greg," I said as my body hit his chest, "forgot you were there. Though I don't know how."  
  
"My, aren't you sarcastic?"  
  
"Yep." We both sat up so he could keep his arms around me. "I'm hungry. Wanna go make dinner?" 


	8. Dinner

***Disclaimer***  
I don't own CSI. I'd love to, but I don't. I own meself + that's it. Well, I guess I own my car. But since I can't drive yet..... ^_^ A big "THANKYOU" to Jetnis and Meee and bloodredcherry and A Bloom!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THANKS, GUYS!!!!!!! YOU MAKE IT WORTH IT!!!!!!!!  
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"Sure," he replied, putting his head in the curve between my neck and shoulder. "What's on the menu?" He bent down with me as I retrieved the drinks off the floor, our bodies still staying connected.  
  
"I'm cooking?!?!?!?!"  
  
"Well, you're the woman of the house, right?" I punched him in the leg.  
  
"I can't cook to save my life."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"I burn pudding."  
  
"Wow. Oookay, next option. What do you want?" he asked, his lips brushing my earlobe. I shivered again and stepped away from him. He looked confused.  
  
"Greg..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I can't do this."  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"You know what I mean!" By now we had reached the top of the stairs. "This. Every time you do that, I could kiss you. And I don't care how corny it sounds. I really could."  
  
"So why don't you?"  
  
"WHAT?!?!"  
  
"I mean, if you said you-" I cut him off with my mouth completely smothering his, no noise could escape. I pushed myself into him. I finally broke away with a flick of my tongue to his lip. He stared at me, smiling. "I don't think 'we're just good friends' is gonna work anymore." I laughed as I flicked on the kitchen lights.  
  
"Whatever gave you that idea, Einstein? No, I'm sorry... Watson?" He grinned again as I set our glasses on the counter.  
  
"Alright, alright... but hey, at least my profession has a scientific genius!"  
  
"Thanks a lot, Greggo."  
  
"Anytime. Anyway, on a more serious note..." He furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you want for dinner?"  
  
"That's a more serious note?"  
  
"Yeah, well... just pretend it is. What do you want?"  
  
"Can you make stir-fry?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Will you?"  
  
"Sure." We began to search the fridge for ingredients. I tossed him noodles, peppers, chicken, and onions from behind my back. "Nice throw!"  
  
"Thanks."  
  
While he made dinner, and due to my complete absence of culinary skills, I set the table, clearing off random bills, receipts, and magazines. Dinner was to be ready in fifteen minutes, I accurately guessed. I pulled out glasses for drinks.  
  
"Whatcha want"  
  
"Do I have a choice?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"You."  
  
I turned and stared at him. His brown eyes implied the truth, but...  
  
"Ha, ha. Funny."  
  
"No, I'm not kidding."  
  
"Yeah, sure."  
  
"I'm dead serious." Something in his voice made me want to run over to him and cry. And I never cry.  
  
"You don't understand. In High School, I was the Ugly Girl; I was the girl guys dared each other to ask out. I was an insult. But I told myself I didn't need them. I didn't care what they thought.  
  
"In college, I did the same thing. Boyfriends, I learned, made you cry. Boyfriends wasted your time. Boyfriends treated you like shit and you still followed them around like an obedient puppy. That wasn't love... I know that now. It was lust, passiveness, abuse. But when you're raised on unlove, that's what you think it is." Dark brown eyes looked into me... and I couldn't meet them. "I can't do that... if that's what you want." My vision was suddenly blocked by a wall of gray. The wonderful aroma of his aftershave enveloped me like an old sweatshirt.  
  
He murmured into my hair, "Oh, you're right. That's not love... oh, God, that is not, not love. I promise I love you. I love you now."  
  
I tilted my head up so my blue-green eyes could meet his dark-ringed ones. "God, you're beautiful. I love you Greg Sanders." He leaned down and we kissed again, without carnal instinct, just love. Old and new love, love without sex.  
  
We broke away, my lips tender.  
  
And I wondered how much like a chick flick this could get.  
  
"So what do you want to drink?"  
  
Okay, y'know how in those anime cartoons when someone says something super stupid, they all face vault?  
  
Yeah. I almost did that.  
  
"Milk."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm on hospital pills, so no alcohol for me, and I like milk."  
  
He stuck his head into the fridge. "Skim okay?"  
  
I made a gagging face and fell over.  
  
"I'll take that as a no."  
  
"Oh!" I exclaimed, jumping up. "You have strawberries?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"A blender that can crush ice?"  
  
"Yeah." His gray-cotton-covered shoulders dropped. "Okay, okay. I'll bite."  
  
"Virgin strawberry daiquiris. I wanted to be a bartender in college."  
  
"Wanted to?"  
  
"Yeah. I had to settle for being a waitress at this little coffee shop. But it was fun." I put limeade, strawberries, corn syrup, ice cubes, and a spoonful of sugar into the blender and pressed start. The appliance was loud, but did its job well. "So what did you do during college?" I shouted over the din.  
"Not much!" I turned the white appliance off, so he lowered his voice. "Not much."  
  
"Come on, you had to have done something!"  
  
"Well..."  
  
"Spill."  
  
"I don't know..."  
  
"Greg, I'm operating a very expensive, very hard appliance of yours."  
  
"Okay." He took a deep breath. "I was part of a rock band."  
  
"Sweet!"  
  
"Yeah. I loved it."  
  
"So what's the big deal about it?"  
  
He shrugged. "My parents hated it, so I don't talk about it often."  
  
"Oh. You got CDs of it?"  
  
"Yeah!" His face lit up. He ran to get them as I put the steaming dish on the table. By now, the house was filled with the sweet scent of soy sauce and hot vegetables. Heaven all over again. I put the glasses filled with the strawberry drink on the table.  
  
He reentered as I sat down. "Here they are."  
  
"Thanks. I love rock."  
  
"Yeah. I know."  
  
"Oh." I could feel the conversation become stretched. "Mind if I borrowed them?" I asked, while indicating to the four CDs in my hand.  
  
"No. Just give 'em back when you're done."  
  
"Thanks." I set them down on the table and bowed my head. I heard Greg make a noise, but I unconsciously ignored it. I looked up when I was done. He was blushing. I realized what I had done. "Oh, geez, sorry, it's the grace, isn't it? Sorry, it's a habi-"  
  
"It's fine," he replied, sensing my embarrassment. Though it wouldn't have been hard since I was beet red and had a panicked look in my eyes.  
  
"Sorr-"  
  
He cut me off again. "No big deal." He put his hand on top of mine. I turned mine over so we would be holding hands.  
  
"Okay. Wanna eat now?" He pulled his hand back, but not before giving my hand a squeeze. Holy cow. This guy knows how to make someone feel comfortable; by now my blushing had gone down and my heart rate was back to normal. I took a bite of the Asian cuisine. Mmm. "Wow," I said quietly. "This is awesome."  
  
"Glad you like it."  
  
"Yeah! It's really, really good. At home, I just make insults towards the cooking community."  
  
"Really?" he said laughing through a mouthful. He swallowed, and then said, "You'll have to let me cook for you more often."  
  
"I'd like that. A lot. And that leads to another thing," I replied, sighing. "I just... don't know..."  
  
"What we're going to do?" Greg supplied for me as he ran his fingers through his bedhead-styled hair.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well... I don't really know what we can do." He stared into my eyes. "I'll never forget yoooooouuuuu..." he sang in a boyband-mimicky voice.  
  
I cracked up and threw my napkin at him.  
  
"Okay, well, seriously, I'm not going to pretend I didn't kiss you and all. Can't. Won't."  
  
"Greg. I know for a fact that you have had sex with a number of women." He winced. "So... I don't know what to do right now. What do you think?"  
  
"I think that," he started, then, swallowing, started again. "That we should date. 


End file.
